


one last chance to make it alright (close your eyes, dear, because nothing ever was)

by SkimMilk11



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/F, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, I'm giving Linh the bi bob and there's nothing you can do about it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkimMilk11/pseuds/SkimMilk11
Summary: The Council had reached out its hand in peace. They had never expected such cruelty in return.The Neverseen was gone. They would never be able to make up for the pain they had caused, but they served their respective sentences, wasting away in Exile. The Elvin world was at peace. With a stronger sense of what a truly strong, united world looked like, the intelligent species renewed their treaties and took a brave leap.They reintroduced themselves to the humans.The Human Assistance Program 2.0 was underway.But who could have ever thought humans were capable of such anger? Of such hate? Such prejudice? Such fear?When they struck, they struck hard.And now, the few survivors will do anything to stay alive.
Relationships: Biana Vacker & Fitz Vacker, Linh Song & Tam Song, Marella Redek/Linh Song, Sophie Foster/Biana Vacker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a [headcanon](https://suldreen-saga.tumblr.com/post/190365845185/human-assistance-program-20) by [suldreen-saga](https://suldreen-saga.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Go give them love!
> 
> I have around 13k written already, but updates will be sort of slow because I hate editing. Please don't hesitate to comment! Comments give me motivation to get my ass off Tumblr and open Google Docs.
> 
> Fair warning, if you don't like weird repetitions or plot holes or purple prose, you probably won't like this fic either.

_Keep your eyes shut_ , he had said, squeezing her hand with a mixture of hope and fear. _It’ll be best not to see. If you wish to keep your sanity, keep your eyes shut._

Sophie’s heartbeat thudded in her ears like the beat of a distant drum behind her eyes, the reverberations passing through her body and shaky breath.

_Badump._

_Badump._

_Badump._

She was weightless, floating alone in the vast emptiness.

_Her limbs were leaden, weighed down by the burden of the dreams and memories of those around her._

She was suspended in empty space. _Her body was being compressed from all sides._

She couldn’t breathe. Bile forced itself down her throat.

Lights flashed behind closed lids. _Everything was dark, she couldn’t see-_

Every limb of her body felt distant, detached. Only her mind, wandering through this darkness and white noise.

_Concentrate._

_Focus._

Sophie tentatively moved her arms, hugged herself. A tingle shot down her spine, bringing with it just a hint of warmth before the flame was smothered. Only enough to make her want more, to feel its absence more so, to want to scrape back the memories of the past year and uselessly try to remember a time when her hands were warm, fingers interlaced with the people she loved.

They- her fingers- had lost feeling some time ago, but she vaguely knew they were there.

Why _she_ was there.

_Remember why you’re doing this._

_They’re counting on you._

They were counting on her. Thousands- millions, if it worked. 

But now? Most, dead. And a few, barely alive. Clinging to a distant hope.

A hope that only she could fulfill.

How had she ended back here? With the weight of death on her shoulders, struggling just to stay standing. Back here again, after a short, blissful two years. A fleeting moment, a breathless beat, in all there was and ever would be.

It would never be enough.

She felt a dull ache in her heart, her chest compressing into a knot. She had run out of tears to let fall, run out of of words to say to make things better a very long time ago. Now, her heart just hurt.

Sophie took a deep breath.

She needed to do this.

For all of them.

And if she failed, she failed everyone. If she failed, she failed all those she had ever loved.

She wrapped her arms closer around herself.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on my [Tumblr](https://skimmilk11.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a long time since there had been rain. The sheets of water nearly hid the crumbling buildings and demolished roads, could almost mute the sounds of sirens, could smother the bitter scent of smoke. Masked behind the rain cover, she could almost completely ignore the small fires throughout the streets of downtown Los Angeles in the distance- but not quite. 

It brought with it a strange sort of hesitance in everyone’s steps, an uneasy pause in the chaos. 

Willowbrook, just ten miles over, had already been evacuated after twenty-three people burned. Everyone was on edge. Business continued as usual, but suitcases were packed, ready for the call.

Hers was tucked beneath her bed. Amy sat on top of the covers, looking out the window. The silence was strange- only her and the sound of water.

Just a year before- less than a year, really- Watson would have been jumping around in the rain, howling into the dark clouds and dancing in the puddles. Marty would have been hiding under the couch, hissing as the storm rattled the crude handmade windchimes that Molly, the kindergartener next door, had gifted them for Christmas. 

They were both gone.

And it was too quiet. 

Amy turned the imparter around in her hands. The smooth square was cool against her flush skin. 

She didn’t know why she had it anymore. It had outlived its purpose- it had failed her. Only a useless shiny square now- a pretty little souvenir of more hopeful times. 

There was nothing she could do. It didn't work anymore. Her one connection to her sister was severed.

She’d spent innumerable hours under the covers at night, making sure her parents were sound asleep before whispering _‘Show me Sophie!’_ over and over into the imparter, only for it to blink weakly and flicker like a dying candle. She’s woken up finding she had fallen asleep clutching the imparter far too many times.

She’s hidden in the bathroom while her parents watched the news, citing cramps, and sat on the tiled floor trying to block out the noise and see Sophie just one more time. She’d repeated her name over and over into the imparter until her voice grew hoarse. 

She’d cried and begged and threatened the crystal square.

But it did nothing.

She tried not to assume the worst, but… 

Her fingers clasped, unclasped. The skin on the back of her hands twisted painfully.

“Show me Sophie.” she whispered.

The words were molded to her tongue now- three words she whispered whenever she had a moment to spare. The ones that bounced around in her mind, a constant echo to her thoughts, carrying fear and anger and panic and frustration at the imparter, at Sophie, at the world and the shitshow it was devolving into. 

_Show me Sophie. Show me Sophie. Where is she? Where is Sophie?_

It was almost a year since she’d last talked to her, seen her face.

“Show me Sophie.”

Starting a couple months ago, she began checking her imparter as soon as she got home from school, and then every few hours, then every ten minutes for a call. Then, she’d starting carrying it around _everywhere,_ even at school, in case Sophie happened to call her, even though she knew that _Sophie knew_ that school ran from eight to three and she would never call her between those hours, but she steadfastly ignored the logical part of her brain, because, because-

Because _Sophie would call her, she would call her and it would go through and her stupid fucking imparter would function properly for once she would pick up and everything would be alright_ . _Because the imparters were fine, and the world was fine- both hers and Sophie’s, and_ she _was fine, and the only problem was her imparter maybe couldn’t make calls anymore, but that was alright, because it could still_ take _Sophie’s calls. And when Sophie took her call, she would mention that her imparter was malfunctioning and she would send over a new one the next day, and they would fall back into their rhythm. Yes, perfect._

Amy got up and moved to the other side of the bed and sat down, facing the closed door. She twisted the friendship bracelet on her wrist until it chafed.

The imparter didn’t even have the decency to flicker.

Her fingers trembled. 

Even two years ago, when Sophie was in the midst of a fucking war and grappling with her destiny _,_ she’d had made a point of calling her every night to let her know that she was alright. She had breathed easier then. 

And now, now- she didn’t know _what the fuck was happening_ , and she could barely breath. 

Oh, how she _hated_ being in the dark. Hated it, like how Sophie hadn’t told her anything when she took all the responsibility for finding their parents a few years back, giving her useless tasks to busy and distract herself with.

Her subconscious, Amy knew, had already accepted that the imparter would not suddenly begin to work again. Knew, also, that something was wrong and Sophie was in trouble, that something was stopping her from reaching out, reinforced by the increasingly worrisome news. Sophie would never go so long without calling her. Surely, if things were alright on her side, she would have recognized that Amy’s calls weren’t going through, and would have tried to call herself, or reach out to her. 

_No_ , her thoughts had already been here before, had run on this particular path twenty times already, had explored every part of the dead end until all of her doubts resurfaced, running darker, deeper. 

Amy took a shallow breath and pushed them away- she didn’t need them again. Reasoned with herself, assured herself- Sophie had shown up on her doorstep with ripplepuffs once because Amy had mentioned she was on her period. She knew she cared. So why…?

At first- _at first,_ in the early months _-_ she had thought it was perhaps just Sophie’s imparter malfunctioning. Then after a month of radio silence, of Sophie ignoring her calls, her doubts dug its claws into her skin. That she hated her, her and the rest of the inferior humans, and all ofAmy’s childish insecurities from years ago, when she was first confronted with the elvin world and in all its glory and intrigue and glittering castles, had all come rushing back.

But then, Willowbrook had gone up in flames, and her self-absorbed bubble popped. This was not about her. There was something bigger going on.

And it terrified her. 

After that, she hoped with all her heart that it was simply Sophie ignoring her after realizing how worthless she was, instead of what she knew, with gut-wrenching certainty, that the increasingly scarier and scarier events reported 10 o'clock news had a part to play in this.

She told herself lies. 

_Everything is fine everything is fine-_

Three months ago, Saanvi had called her out on her increasingly secretive and seemingly irrational behavior. She wanted to cry. _I know. I know what I’m doing is futile and stupid but I don’t know what else to do. I want to tell you, but I can’t. I’m sorry._

Amy took a deep breath. It didn’t help. Her eyes stung.

Just one more time. One last look would be enough. 

She had started using her imparter in public. Walking to Starbucks. At the library. She had already accepted _it would not work_ , _and never would again_ , and so now, she made her last-ditch efforts were without the usual care, already knowing, accepting, the inevitable blank screen. And she hated herself for it. Hated she was giving up, accepted failure before she even took out the silver square from her backpack.

Was this really it? Was this really the end? Should she just give up now? _Could_ she? Could she bring herself to give up on her sister? Could she accept the possibility that _Sophie might be hurt or dead_ and it was all because of the humans’ fault and-

Amy surged up and _flung_ the imparter.

In movies, mistakes happened in slow motion. The main character punched his best friend in half time. The camera slowed down while she pushed her classmate off the bridge, zooming in on her face as it flashed to denial and regret and panic. A bullet flew through the air impossibly slowly, but everyone in the audience knew, _knew,_ that it was slicing the air at an unstoppable speed and would not miss its target.

The imparter didn’t fall slowly.

In fact, Amy barely saw it.

One moment it was in her hand, and the other, it was in a million shards of crystal on the floor. 

She stood still for a breathless moment.

_Did I really do that?_

Yes.

Yes, she did.

Her mind flashed to Otterbox. _I wonder if they make Otterbox cases for imparters. Then the fuckers would never break._

The idea was so absurd, so sudden, so trivial compared to _what she had just done, fuck-_

She laughed, a little bit too loud. She stopped.

She felt slightly dizzy.

Her ears rang. 

It took her a second, two seconds, for her mind to catch up.

_Fuck._

Cold. Everything was so, so cold. Then fire shot through her nerves. 

“No. No- fuck!” Amy stepped forward, drawing back when she realized she had stepped barefoot into the broken shards. They pricked her feet and drew warm blood, but she paid no mind. The pain hadn't registered yet. She blindly picked up the shards, dropping them when they stung and scraped her fingertips until they were slick with blood. 

She swore. 

Of course she had done that. 

Of course she had been stupid enough to break the one line of communication to her sister(never mind it hadn’t worked for the past year), the one way to find out if her sister was dead or alive, and she was a moron enough to break it.

God, she was so stupid. Just like the rest of the pathetic human race. 

Amy let her hand still. The shards of crystal and glass in her palm, tainted a dark red, tumbled to the ground in a tinkling symphony. 

Then, crouching over in front of the mess, she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked slowly. She would clean up the blood and pick up the glass later. But for the moment, she let herself drown in her misery.

“How was work today?” 

“It was fine. George and I went over to check the infrastructure damage on the Alex Baum Bicycle Bridge. The fire didn’t really do much damage, so the project hopefully won’t take long. We drew up some plans that we’ll submit tomorrow.” 

“That’s great.” 

“Yeah.” He took a drink of water. “What about you?”

The polite grin etched on her mother’s face slipped off. “Hm. It was mostly uneventful. Some burn victims. The intern showed up dripping wet fifteen minutes late. He forgot his umbrella. Again.” Her mother took a sip of her lemonade.

“How about you, Amy? Enjoying spring break?” 

Amy hesitated at the mention of her name, considering the question. “It was fine,” she said carefully.

There was a certain tension between her and her parents now. There had been for multiple months. A long, unspannable chasm, her on one side and her parents on the other. She didn’t remember how exactly it started. She had turned around one day, and it was there, and there was no bridge.

Her father raised his eyebrow. “You sure?”

She paused for a moment too long. “Yes.”  
“No strangers? You didn’t let anyone in? You didn’t see anyone suspicious?”

“I told you, it was fine. I was watching TV all day. _No_ , I didn’t see anything weird, okay?” Amy stabbed her pasta. The fork screeched against the bottom of the plate. She winced.

There was an awkward silence. Her mother cleared her throat.

A year ago, her father would have scolded her for her rudeness. Now, he let it go. Everyone was tense these days. 

She didn't need to follow CNN on Twitter to feel it, to know it was there. To know about the riots, both for and against the elves until the lines blurred together and all it was was people yelling and flying sparks, when she saw the destruction right in front of her eyes. To know the disconnected news articles made up a bigger, much more terrible story that was spilling over the sides of the curtain. But until someone with power ripped the curtain away, all she could do was sit and wait with bated breath for a single drop of meaning. 

She wasn’t stupid. But there was only so much speculation she could do when staring at a curtain. 

Her classmates had the privilege of giving up waiting in front of the curtain, had the privilege of not even knowing the curtain was there. But she- she had to sit there and conjure up worse and worse ideas until a drop of information proved them wrong, had to sit there and mull over the drops for hours until they diverted her mind to an even more horrifying path, then sit and wait there some more for another morsel of information.

(She’d unfollowed all the news channels filling her social media feed in February. All they had to offer were superficial reports that said nothing substantial. They only made her worry more. She’d followed CNN again after two days of _not knowing.)_ (Not like they really told her much in the first place, but she felt slightly calmer, in control, when she scrolled through their posts, until her breath caught in her chest when she saw what was such obviously propaganda against elves.)

The tension permeated everything and trickled down to her in small ways, surrounding her in a well-spun web of uneasiness- from the smell of smoke in the distance when she opened the window, in the faces of the people on the street, in the rain, beating out an unrelenting tattoo- the anxiety sitting heavy and unmoving in the very air. The words _something is happening something has already happened_ rattled around her head while the news reported everything from pages full of blatant lies to bare-minimum two-sentence articles. 

“Oh, Will. That reminds me. Have you heard the news? The one about what happened on Spring Street?”

Spring Street, right at the doorstep of City Hall. Riots for weeks straight. She remembered seeing the damage on the schoolbus, on the way to school. It was indescribable. She could vividly recall a particular poster, word for word, left behind and propped against the broken window of a jewelry store. _Send back the dangerous inhumans. Strike before they do._

Not particularly eloquent, but it was harsh, clear, and so she remembered. 

Her father blinked. “No. What is it?” 

“Just this morning. A mob attacked a girl visiting home from college at Starbucks, thinking she was an elf. She wasn’t. The place was pure chaos. Overturned tables, broken coffee machines. She’s at the Williamsburg Hospital, in a coma after hitting her head on the counter.” 

Amy bit her lip.

Her mother continued.

“I saw pictures, later. She doesn’t even have blue eyes. Mob mentality is truly horrific.” 

“That’s terrible.” Her father said listlessly.

The story was too common now. It didn’t hold weight in anyone’s minds anymore. There were similar cases every day, but the unaffectedness in his voice, the unspoken _that’s how it goes_ echoing his voice stabbed at her lungs. 

Her mother wouldn’t give up. She was always one for ‘meaningful discussion’. 

Meaningful discussion- as if they had nearly enough information to work with for a ‘meaningful discussion’.

(How drastically the public’s image of elves have changed in the past year. From liars to gods to the solution to all problems to snobs to inbred elitists who sat back and watched the world burn in World War II to murderers and criminals to the reason for all things wrong with humanity. She could hardly keep up.) 

_Deep breaths. They don’t know what you do. No one knows._

Her mother said something about Vespera, and her father hummed in agreement. 

Vespera. She’d been a constant on headlines for a solid three weeks. 

Amy remembered when the issue first exploded. It was a diplomatic disaster, after information about Vespera resurfaced. She thought interspecies relations would never recover. 

She took a drink of water.

“Amy, stop bouncing your leg.” her father sighed.

She hadn’t even realized she was doing it until the noise of silverware rattling stopped. A nervous tic, she supposed- something she’d done since she was little. Sophie had always yelled at her for doing it when she was trying to study.

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine.”

The rest of dinner was in silence.

The walls in their house were thin. Amy could hear her parents watching the 9 o'clock news in the other room as she 'did homework.' She restarted Subway Surfer after she crashed into a barrier.

A commercial break for Pepsi ended, and Micah O’Conner’s grim voice started to speak over the breaking news sound effect. 

“The UN IRC has recently created programs in collaboration with world governments to create connections between humans and elven civilians. Called Project X, it was said that elves who wish to enter human society could enter the program to learn about human culture in a controlled environment, and in turn, teach humans about elven culture. However, a whistleblower has recently accused the program of being a hoax in which the government detains and abuses elves in order to study their unique biology, with no regard for their health or well-being, even going as far to accuse the government of torture. As of this evening, new information is still coming in regarding these... _very_ serious allegations.” 

Amy’s hand stilled. Jake was hit by an oncoming train.

Her parents murmured in the other room.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She opened Safari. It took three tries for her to type ‘elves’ in the search bar. 

It was everywhere. As soon as she hit enter, multiple articles popped up, all published less than an hour ago- all with terrible, terrible headlines. Her hands trembled. She picked one at random. Then another, and another.

She skimmed them quickly, hardly able to concentrate over her blood pulsing in her chest, the dull _thump, thump_.

Words and phrases jumped out at her. 

_Torture._

_Questionable sources._

_As of Tuesday afternoon, new information is still coming in regarding the whistleblower’s allegations._

_Live updates._

In the living room, Micah O’Connor’s voice droned on. 

“The United Nations Interspecies Relations Council president Titi Ifunanya Adeyemo released a statement forty-three minutes ago regarding the alleged abuse of elves in government-coordinated programs.”

Amy staggered to the bedroom door and peeked out. Her parents’ silhouettes on the couch, illuminated by the glow of the TV.

A woman in a suit and tie filled the screen, standing on a podium with the symbol of the UN while cameras flashed. She leaned into the nest of mics. “The IRC deeply apologizes for the worry and confusion these false allegations may have caused. We believe in transparency. The whistleblower’s statement is false. The programs were created so that members of the elven community who wish to enter human society can educate themselves about human culture, and for us, in turn, to learn about elven culture. All elves at these institutions willingly entered the facilities, and government officials on both sides are learning much about the other. These are big steps, and necessary for world governments to account for and unite with a community of people who we have only very recently begun contact with. I will repeat, elves and humans are in peaceful negotiations. We have high hopes for the future." 

The clip ended, and the camera went back to Micah O’Connor. 

_Ah_.

She could see clearly now. The curtain had been ripped open. 

Amy stood up to go to the bathroom, paused, and threw up on the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys my parents legit only watch Korean news now so idk what American news sounds like anymore.


End file.
